These puppets of
mine
They move as I
pull
It's hard to
believe
They once had a
soul

String won't do, So
rope is a must
That way when I
pull
Their bodies
violently
******

I pull at these
puppets
I am their
God
But I take away
free will
Because it's not their right, nor
my law

Dance
my lovelies
Bend to
my will
As I pull at
your harness's
As you wish
I'd have killed

How couldn't I,
see the pain in his eyes.
The burden he carried,
was far too heavy.

To be perfect,
just the right fit.
The mask he wore,
soon became permanent.

He was the one,
the one and only one.
He was the one,
and you threw him into the sun.

He was the man,
who could do anything.
His life, his fight,
was to do it all right.

His family first,
for better or worse.
He gave you his life,
threw it all on the line.

He was the one,
the one and only one.
He was the one,
but you pushed him towards the gun.

And now he rests,
with both hands on his chest.
The man of the hour,
and a life gone sour.

The man of the hour,
and a life gone sour.

Let me go to war.

Let me go to war against all the odds,

Against all the ends

And everything that treads in between the grooves

And the cracks in the pavement.



Let me go to war for all that was lost in the fire

Or in the stewing **** of the flooded toilet.

Let me go to war against the loaded dice

And the big fella in his baseball cap

Shifting his fat on the stool,

Awaiting that certain hand that will feed his boy

And get head from his double-dealing wife.



Let me go to war against the ivory towers of hypocrisy

That is the church.

The breathless opulence of a rain soaked cathedral

And the poverty of righteousness

Found in every leap from scripture

And every hungry soul.

In every forgotten feminist.

And still the Pope stands in his robes twined with gold,

Claiming to feed the world.



Oh please, let me slit the throats

Of every person who scoffs at the teenager cutting his wrists,

Or at the old couple fading to grey in a world of multi-coloured ****.

Let me begin the culling

Of those who undermine The Beatles

And all other music

By turning it into another cash cow

And for those that stand with their cameras,

So desperate to chronicle this experience,

That they forget to experience.



And finally, let me go to war.

Let me go to war with myself

For being too quick to judge

And assuming I am the arbiter of fairness

And where the ashtray should sit on the table.

Let me go to war with the demons that fester in my brain

And scratch on the walls of my mind when I try to sleep

And rattle their cages every time I step into a new world.

Let me go to war so that on my deathbed,

My last thought isn’t this:



That for all the money I had made,

For all the times I had got laid,

And even the times I had got high

That I didn’t let those opportunities go by

Where I could just sit in the dark of an October dawn

And watch the rise of the morning sun.

In the corridors of the body,
In the halls of the jagged ribcage,
I milk the stars in her eyes
In a field of tissue and organs.
They fall from my memory
Into the hummingbird heartbeat
Which makes my body
Nostalgic warm.

I hated the way childhood tasted
Like sticky kisses from unfamiliar lips,
But I remember you softly,
As though thinking too hard about it
Would shatter the memory.

You’ve nested in my brain
And kept my small hands warm
With your big heart.
You are channeled into me
The way west winds
Whisper their messages in and out
Of metropolitan suicide suites,
Telling us not to jump,
To put the knife down,
Not to pull the trigger and
To get off the chair-
You are a lifesaver
In ways we can’t count on fingers
And toes.

My mood swings like a pendulum
In a long-broken clock
And I gently fray at the edges.
I can feel your hand on my face
And I am comfortable like a cloud.
I give my entire heart to you
Neck and all
And in return, you give me yours
Pale, pretty wrists and all.

Somehow, through the dresses,
The curled hair and the pink nails,
I felt you reaching into me
From some private distance
With eyes, hands and body.

Life is a constant struggle
That goes on and on.
For some it is a bottomless pit,
For others a personal utopia.
For everyone it is an undefined
Mystery.
What is life?
The will to make ****** choices,
Getting lost in a dangerous city
Or lighting fire to one's phone?
Is it about the greed to succeed,
******* over one's fellow man?
Or is it about creating goals
So pointless yet so important
And trying restlessly to reach them?
Maybe it's about facing reality.
For some it's that goals are pointless,
That disappointment is imminent.
For others it's who they truly are,
That they will always lose in society.
Life is a twisted game
That cannot be won.
Every part of existence will lose.
At some point,
Everyone; everything, will die.
With reality, social status seems
Useless.
Competition is a waste of time.
Making life better for others
Is the way to make life better
For oneself,
For the World.
Life is a glass of sand
That must stop at some point.
It is not to be wasted.
Life is precious.
It is full of freedom;
Full of control.
The game; although inevitably
Tragic,
Is a game of luck.
Without luck one will
Fail.
Will you fail the game of life?